The New Years
by JustAFlick
Summary: Pre-ANH through Post-ROTJ. What if Han and Leia met before the Death Star? On the mission before his disastrous spice run for Jabba, Han encounters an elusive stranger who makes him question the way things are. An accidental tradition that tracks our favorite couple from strangers to lovers.
1. Old Year

"Here's to the Empire!"

Han knocked back a glass of something bubbly as the table erupted in cheers. He wasn't quite sure why he'd said it - he had no allegiance to the Empire and a surprisingly strong distaste for what it stood for. But, somehow he'd ended up at bar in Coruscant surrounded by the kinds of people he knew would appreciate such a sentiment.

"The Empire!" They chorused back like a flock of parrots.

 _Good thing Chewie ain't here..._

In a rare move, the two had separated to take on a double run. Chewie had dropped Han on Coruscant to hand deliver a very special (and small) package, while he completed a routine run for a buyer they had on a neighboring planet. Han fingered the vial he held in his pocket, reminding himself not to get too slap happy. All he had to do was hand it off, but it had to be worth a whole lot for what he was being paid to move it.

He'd had to laugh when he'd heard the plan. At midnight, he'd receive a kiss from a woman in red. She'd take the vial and the job would be done.

Usually his work wasn't quite so...interactive. Han had always been one to keep his work life and his private life separate. Of course, this couldn't really be considered private - a quick kiss with a stranger in a public place, but as the booze worked their way through his system, he felt a little anticipation fizz through his veins.

"You don't look like our normal clientele," a lithe waitress murmured. He glanced at her, noting the slight lavender sheen to her otherwise human-looking eyes.

"Oh yeah?" He knocked back the rest of his glass and handed her the dregs.

She lifted an eyebrow, but took the empty glass. "A little too rough, though I appreciate the jacket."

Han shrugged, feeling the slightest discomfort. He'd bought a new jacket, navy and crisp just hours before in an overpriced boutique. With a couple winks and a few kind words, he'd managed to get the little sales clerk to give it to him on clearance.

He caught a glimpse of the barely there markings on the girl in front of him, and smirked back at her adding a little hardness to his hazel eyes.

"Well, you don't seem like you fit in either, sweetheart. Don't see many mixed breeds around here."

He'd scanned the room as he always did upon entering a space and found exactly what he'd come to expect from Imperial holdings. Humans as far as the eye could see. You'd think they were the only beings in the universe.

But the woman didn't shy away as he thought she might. Instead she stepped a little closer.

"I don't think either of us belong here," she whispered. And with a mischievous smile, she wended her way back through the crowd.

Han frowned after her. One of his new drinking mates jostled him, a well-heeled lawyer from the upper levels who had an obvious spice problem. But, Han's jolly mood from a moment before had evaporated.

Life had taught Han in some very nasty ways never to ignore a gut feeling, and right now his gut was telling him that this Miralan woman had something on him.

He clapped the man on the shoulder and said he'd be back with more booze, then followed the way that she'd gone. The bar was packed with people, dressed up for a night of revelry and no regrets. A couple of the more attractive women caught his eye, one even stroked a hand along his back, but he shrugged her off, intent on his goal.

After a few moments of looking he grabbed a male waiter by the arm and asked in a gruff tone, "Hey, you seen the little waitress? The one with the freckled cheeks?"

"Tarah's gone on her break, but can I get you anything?"

Han shook his head then cocked it toward the bar.

"Send her over when she's back, huh?"

The young man gave him a knowing look, then seemed to catch himself before nodding.

"Will do, sir."

Han glanced at the back door of the place, tamping down the urge to go after her into the night. Yeah, there was a chance she just knew a fresh item of clothing when she saw one, but there was an even bigger one that she'd been trailing him. And at this moment, all Han wanted was to know why.

But the chrono on the wall read 11:45, and he knew he wouldn't be able to track her down in time to make his drop. He grabbed one of the copper stools at the crystal bar and threw down more credits than he should have.

"Give me your best Corellian whiskey. Neat."

He reached into his pocket and grimaced at the next part of his assignment. The red mask was relatively simple, shaped out of velvet and backed with a bit of space silk. Han still hated the idea of wearing it. He wouldn't be the only one - masks were often part of the New Years celebrations on many planets. The Coruscant elite still kept up the tradition even as their Imperial overlords mostly eschewed them.

He dangled the scrap of cloth from his fingers. It was cut in an odd shape, the sides of the eyes angling up into points and the piece over the nose drooping down to create a semicircle. The woman in red would recognize him based on this mask. They were supposed to look like a couple he supposed.

He shook his head as the bartender slid a glass of dark amber liquid his way. The things he got himself into. After this next run for Jabba, a significant shipment of spice, Han swore to himself that things were gonna change. Maybe he'd set up his own operation, stop having to serve assholes like Jabba. Or maybe he'd find some cute, young thing, buy a house and become a family man.

That's likely.

With a snort, Han tied the mask to the back of his head with nimble fingers, pointedly ignoring the look of the bartender in front of him. He plucked the glass off the table and buried his nose in the rim. Gods, this was good stuff. He eagerly sampled a bit, letting it roll on his tongue. Drinking that bubbly swill seemed like a travesty when faced with the magnificence of a high end Corellian brew.

"Were you waiting for me?"

Han turned, expecting to see the Miralanian waitress, again, but stopped short at the sight before him. The young woman was about the same height as the waitress, but that was where their similarities ended. Where the waitress was wiry, almost too skinny, this girl had a shapely figure, a dizzying array of slopes and curves swathed in red. He could see dark eyes, behind her red mask, looking at him impatiently.

"Guess so," he murmured, taking another, larger sip from his drink. The whiskey fanned out though his veins, slightly intensifying his reaction to the very female form in front of him.

With a slight nod, the woman slipped onto the stool next to him and nodded to the bartender.

"I'll have what he's having," she murmured, in a deep penetrating alto that cut through the chatter in the room.

Han watched as the bartender deftly poured another absurdly expensive glass of whiskey.

"Hope you're planning on paying for that, sweetheart. Corellian whiskey ain't cheap."

The woman barely glanced at him, eyes trained on the screen above him. The holo images showed the celebration in the capital happening mere miles from where they were sitting. The camera zoomed in on a gathering of political types, raising glasses on a balcony high above the

cheering crowds. It would have been rather jolly, if not for the white suits lined up on either side.

"Have you got the vial?" The woman asked after taking the tiniest sip from her drink.

Han considered her for a moment while taking his own sip.

"Think you've got something for me first."

The woman's eyes flashed on him, and he could see now in the light from the screens above that they were in fact a dark brown. Not too dissimilar from the whiskey they were sipping.

"I think that particular part of this interaction is unnecessary," she said.

Raising his hands, along with the glass, Han groused, "Hey, I didn't make the rules, honey."

The woman's jaw tightened and Han couldn't help the way his lips quirked at the sight. He wasn't quite sure why she was demurring at this point. After all, she or her bosses had made the plan, but it had been a while since Han had had the chance to tease a girl.

"I don't have time for this," the woman continued, looking up at the chrono.

Han eyes flicked the screen. 11:51.

"Well, you're gonna have to make some, cuz I can't trust you till I get the proper signal."

The woman raised her glass and took a bonifide gulp this time. Her face was hidden by the hood she wore, but Han saw her shoulders shake a little in what he would swear was a cough.

He frowned. "How old are you?"

"That's none of your concern," the woman snapped.

Han glanced at the chrono again.

"For the next 8 minutes it is."

The woman sighed and turned toward him, allowing him a glance at her once again. Well, what he could see beyond the shape of the mask that perfectly matched his own.

"I was not supposed to be here," she said in a measured tone, "but the same illness that requires _that_ vial, has stricken the woman who was to stand in my place."

Han could see the slight edge in her eyes, a mixture of exhaustion and desperation. For a moment, he felt for her. But, it wasn't enough to change his mind about seeing this thing through.

"Sorry to hear that. But a deal's a deal. I assume you wouldn't want me just giving this thing to anyone who asked."

The woman tensed, as if to reply, but then took a breath and relaxed just a bit.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. She swirled the whisky in her glass, and Han found himself mesmerized by the sight of the large glass clutched in her delicate hands.

"Guess you don't have a lot to celebrate this year," Han found himself saying. The chrono switched from 3 to 4.

"Do any of us?" The woman said, eyes alighting once again on the screen in front of her.

Han shifted on the stool, wondering what exactly she meant and why he even cared.

"Things don't seem so bad," he said, only to trail off at the blazing look he received.

"They don't, do they? I suppose to someone like you, it doesn't much matter what kind of power is in control and who they might be hurting."

Han rolled his eyes even as he felt that same unsettled feeling in his stomach after that toast earlier.

"Can it, will you? You don't know anything about me. And if you were so high and mighty, you wouldn't be dealing with likes of me anyway."

He expected a huff or a retort and was a little disappointed with the woman didn't respond. Once again, he found her eyes glued the screen above. He tried to parse out what kept grabbing her attention, but all he saw was more footage of the same gathering. Senators and generals and other kinds of people Han would never know or care about.

"On my home planet," the young woman said a little more softly, "we make wishes on New Years Eve. Hopes for what the New Year might have in store."

"Yeah? On mine, we just get ass backward drunk."

This time he got the huff, and felt absurdly pleased by its appearance.

"Nevermind."

11:57.

"Nah, keep going. I'm keeping my tradition, might as well keep yours."

Han finished the last of his whisky as the young woman considered him. She had a stubborn chin, made of the creamiest skin Han had ever seen. Just beneath the hood he could see dark hair pulled back and pinned down.

"I wish that something would change," the woman bit her lip and looked down, swirling her drink again.

Han leaned forward, despite himself.

"What do you want to change?"

She glanced up at the screen again then back at him.

"The status quo. Something has to happen to galvanize the galaxy..."

Han suddenly sensed they were in dangerous territory. He had known the woman leaned a little to left, but now he suspected he had a full-on rebel sympathizer on his hands. He glanced at the chrono once again. 11:59. Thankfully, sharing time was almost over.

By the time he turned back to her, the woman had gathered herself. She pushed the rest of her drink towards him with a tight smile, "Since you let me keep my tradition, I'll help you with yours."

"Thanks," he said, feeling suddenly awkward. The energy in the room was buzzing as the beings waited for the countdown to begin.

"Must we really see this through?" The woman murmured.

Han stood towering over the little thing. In the few minutes they'd spoken he'd forgotten how small she was. He nearly gave in, no longer having any doubts that this woman was his mark. But something in the curve of her cheek and the bow of her lips made him lean a little closer.

"Like I said..."

"You didn't make the rules," she sighed. "No, that was Winter," she murmured. "Saw your picture on the background check."

His smiled widened as the counting started.

"10, 9..."

"Well, once she recovers,"

"6, 5.."

Han's slipped the vial from his pocket and into her hand.

"2, 1..."

"You can tell her all about it."

"Happy New Year!"

Han leaned forward, lips colliding with the little woman in red's. He could have sworn she was farther away when he'd started and he couldn't help the smile against her lips as he realized she must have stood up on her toes. The roar of the party around him seemed a parsec away as all his awareness funneled into one spot in the universe, the little shiver of energy between her mouth and his.

Before the cheers had stopped, the woman pulled away taking both her energy and the vial with her. She gazed up at him, and for a flick, he wondered if she'd stay. Then without a word she turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Han stepped back, feeling a bit like a puppet who'd been cut from his strings. He was oddly winded, as if he'd just run a race. Had it really only been 10 minutes? It felt like a lifetime.

Looking down at the bar, he was reminded of her drink. The light caught the barest hint of lip color on the rim, a similar shade to the costume of the owner. Han picked up the glass and considered it.

"Drink up, my friend," the Miralan said to him for behind the bar.

Han frowned at her.

"Don't have any friends," Han growled. "What's your angle?"

"Stop being so gruff," Tarah said. "Your aura gives you away."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Haven't you ever met a Miralan?" She laughed. "I have no angle. Just reading you. I usually see the same kind of aura around here. Yours is different."

Han took a sip of the whiskey, unsure of whether or not he wanted this conversation to continue.

"What was her name?"

Han glared over the rim.

The woman shrugged her delicate shoulders, "I can see the lip stain on the rim."

"Doesn't matter," Han said as he continued to drink.

"Why do you continue to lie to me?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Han said angrily. He was a little surprised by the swirl of frustration and edginess that behind his words.

"Because this is my business," she trilled. "Bartending just pays the bills."

"So what, you're a reporter? A narc?"

"I'm a spirit healer."

"Great," Han said, taking another gulp from the absent woman's drink. "This is exactly what I need."

"How true," Tarah beamed at him. "You, my friend, need a change."

Han stared at her, feeling a slight chill as the word echoed through him.

"You're on the wrong path. You continue to mire yourself in darkness and it chokes your light. Which you have a lot of by the way."

"I can see why you're a bartender," Han grumbled.

"Something touched you just now," Tarah continued, placing an ice water in front of him. "Your light is pulsing, almost dancing whereas before it was still."

Han couldn't help the flash he had of the woman's lips on his, the strange sort of energy he'd felt as he kissed her.

"Aw, you know..." Tarah murmured, "The purple of wisdom just appeared."

"Would you stop it?" Han growled. He pushed the glass toward her, feeling a little twinge as the last of the woman was swept away into the dish pit.

"And green...you didn't get her name?"

Han wasn't sure if it was the rest of her whiskey or the inanities of this waitress, but his head was spinning a little as he stumbled off his stool.

"Hey," Tarah called after him. "You have to let go. When the time comes, just let..."

The Miralan's voice faded away as Han wended his way through the crowd.

The cool night air hit him as he exited onto the avenue, along with a ripple of continuous cheering and the glittering light of fireworks. He looked up at a holo display hugging the side of a building.

And in the moment before before he continued on his way, to Chewie and the Falcon and another job for Jabba, Han allowed himself a wish before he disappeared into the Coruscanti night.

The thought remained where his body hadn't, then drifted up into the ether. The silvery thing the gods would catch was more a question than an outright wish.

What if this really was a new year?


	2. New Year

"To the Rebellion!"

Han grinned up at Luke Skywalker as the young pilot sloshed a healthy portion of his drink down upon his audience. Most of the pilots laughed except a small Sullastan who seemed to have taken most of the hit.

"To the Rebellion!" they chorused back, and Han had a bit of deja vu. It was more than a year since his last New Years (new timeline and all that), but the memory of it was still fresh. He shook his head as he looked around the ragtag group of seasoned officers and fresh-faced recruits. They couldn't be more different than the Coruscanti bourgeoisie he'd celebrated with last year, but Han couldn't have liked them more.

That warm fuzzy feeling probably had something to do with the Corellian whiskey he'd managed to smuggle onto base for the occasion. If it hadn't been for the last minute 'mission' he and Chewie had taken, this party would have been oiled with nothing but fuel-tank gin. That and the few bottles of ale left by the monks that once inhabited this old mountain-top temple.

Han didn't know when he'd gotten so generous. Usually his whiskey was a secret he kept closely guarded. But, as the pilots broke out into another rendition of "All Hail the Emperor" (with the key words switched out for dirty epithets), Han wasn't sorry he'd splurged.

There was only one thing Han Solo was sorry about and it had nothing to do with whiskey, or pilots or strange bouts of generosity. There was one person missing from these festivities and that one absence niggled at his conscience.

Leia Organa hadn't shown up, and he was pretty sure it was his fault.

Oh, the Princess was an adult (barely) and he didn't care about her damn feelings (mostly), but as the hours ticked by and midnight grew closer, he couldn't help but regret his part in keeping her away.

"Fancy a spin?"

The tall redhead ran a hand down Han's arm. She wasn't a rebel, but rather a visiting dignitary from Chandrila. And while the night they'd spent in her quarters had been quite entertaining, it had lead to the problem at hand.

"Nah," he said, smoothing his refusal with half a smile. "Don't want to see me out there after the third glass."

The woman raised an eyebrow and tapped her fingernail on his glass.

"You'll want to be careful with that. I've seen creatures twice your size buckle under the weight of Corellian whiskey."

Han flashed her a full-on grin, "That's how you know it's the good stuff."

A gentle scoff caught his attention, and Han looked over his shoulder just in time to see a flash of white and a twist of brown braids.

Without another word, Han turned on his heel and took up the pursuit. Leia was fast, as always, but she was impeded by sloppy well-wishes from the drunken pilots all around her. Han couldn't help but smirk at the sight of her little body being swallowed up by the gushing hugs of pilots who were usually too intimidated to talk to her.

"Princess," he said, as she stumbled out of another clumsy embrace and straight into his path.

"Captain," she hissed, glaring up at him through her lashes.

Han felt a bubble of happiness so intense, it almost shocked him. This thing happened when he was around Leia. This feeling of utter presence, of life becoming sharper and brighter and more colorful. He'd been missing it all night, for some reason craving that presence as they rung in the New Year.

"Happy New Year," he mumbled, still marveling at the strength of his internal reaction.

Leia clenched her jaw, but nodded. She looked down at the ground and seemed to gather herself for a moment before making to turn away. Han's quick draw reflexes kicked in, and he had her arm before she could move an inch.

"Where'd you think your going?"

Leia stiffened, her voice sharp.

"Back to my quarters."

Han swallowed as his thoughts followed that sentence. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of hours imagining those quarters. Well, if he was honest, his focus tended to wander toward the activities one might take up in said quarters…

"You can't leave now. It's almost midnight. It's the dawn of a new era."

Leia rolled her eyes.

"And it will happen whether I'm here or not."

"Not sure about that," Han leaned closer, tossing the words into her ear, "We may need a royal decree."

He felt the little shiver that went through her as he said it, but when he pulled back her face was stony.

"Will you kindly let go of my arm?"

Han squinted down at her, unsure whether to comply with this command. Sure, she had a right to her arm and her bed and her damn icy pride. But, it was a holiday. It was a party. Besides…

"Why'd you come then?"

Leia looked confused for a moment, until her features settled into a resigned mask.

"It doesn't matter."

Han loosened his grip but kept his hand on her, moving it ever so slightly in a gentle, almost coaxing way.

"Sure it does."

Leia's brown eyes sought his out (finally) and he felt the same surge of energy, the want unclouded by daylight doubts or sober scorn.

"I came to apologize," the words were sincere but edged with a lilt of sarcasm.

It still hit Han hard. Leia Organa, Princess and last Heir of Alderaan, did not apologize lightly. And he'd almost missed the event.

Without thinking, he slid his hand down her arm and grasped the hand that waited there. He ignored Leia's whispered protests as he wound the though the rest of the crowd intent on an old wood door. With a push, they stumbled out onto a terrace overlooking the arid canyons that surrounded their mountain perch.

The moon was bright and the air was cool as they left the light and the music behind them. Han wasn't entirely sure he'd ever been this alone with Leia. The thought made his heart do strange things in his chest. (He'd have to think about that later.)

"Han," Leia said, in a full-on scathing voice, finally pulling her hand fiercely away. He did take note of the fact that she'd only done so after he'd gotten her out here. Also, his name. He always noticed when she said his name.

"Yes, Leia?"

That seemed to give her pause, at least enough of one for him to slip in.

"You don't have to apologize."

Leia blinked at him, resplendent in the moonlight.

"Well, in case you failed to notice, I wasn't. I was _trying_ to leave."

"Yeah," Han frowned at the memory of her receding back, "What was with that?"

Leia let out a little huff which showed a pale white in the chilly air.

"You obviously hadn't learned your lesson," she chided, "I _saw_ you talking with—"

"What, so I'm not even allowed to talk now?"

"Well, with you, talking always seems to lead to—"

"Oh yeah, where's it lead, Princess?"

They were close now, perilously close. He could feel the little puffs of her breath tickling his neck, his chin, his lips.

"Back to where it started." Leia said, in a tone so proper it almost made him laugh.

Where this particular argument had started was a bed tucked away into the upper part of the temple, where Han had gotten very familiar with a very public figure.

As her words sunk in along with the implications that accompanied them, Leia's face lost some of its certainty. For a moment, she looked like the girl was she was. Twenty and so…

"I'm not gonna say I'm sorry for that," Han said, in a tone much softer than he was used to.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Leia's jaw hardened, but her eyes were wide.

"But," he took a breath, aware in a painful way how close they were, "I'm sorry I hurt you."

Leia started back, "You—I don't care what you do—"

Han shook his head. "No, I mean, what I said about…"

His words trailed off as their minds synced. Somewhere a bird called, it's cry echoing through the night. The moon was so bright, Han could see every thought in the Princess's eyes.

"I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you," she said, matching his quiet tone.

Han shrugged, almost adding a saucy comment on how much he liked it when she got mad. But, he sensed, with rare acumen, that this wasn't the moment.

Leia breathed in the night, holding his gaze, and for a moment he wanted to reach for her hand again. But without the pretext of dragging her this way or that, the gesture would mean something. And he wasn't sure he was ready for that just yet. (Or ever.)

"This isn't an easy day for me."

Han nodded solemnly, thinking of the Death Star, and the rescue and the way the chunks of her home had banged and skittered against the hull of his ship.

As if she could read his mind, she shook her head, and muttered, "No, not that." Then she closed her eyes as if in pain. "I mean, of course that. But not only that."

Han couldn't look away from her as she searched so earnestly inside of herself. Their moments were never this slow, never this thoughtful. Theirs were quicker and louder and more intense.

"I was relieved," she started, turning away from him toward the stone balustrade. "I was relieved when we didn't celebrate the old New Years."

Han followed, but slowly, not wanting the break the spell.

"My father always insisted we spend New Years together. Just the three of us," a soft smile graced her lips as she remembered, "Every other holiday was a royal affair, celebrated with hundreds, sometimes thousands, of citizens. Parades, balls, banquets…but on that night we left Alderaanians to their own hearths."

They were side by side now, looking out into the gilded night. The familiarity tugged at Han again as he listened to the melodic cadence of her low voice.

"On Alderaan, New Years isn't a revelry," she swallowed, "wasn't…It was a time for reflection. We would remember the year behind us. One by one, in the astronomy tower - which was my father's favorite room - we would tell stories of the year before."

Her face was so warm and alive now that Han could do nothing but gaze, arrested, while she continued, "First me, then Mama, then Papa, then back again. We would tell funny stories, sad stories, share triumphs and embarrassments. And there could be no judgement, no regret. What was done was done."

Leia looked down at this, a wisp of hair falling into her eye. Han didn't stop himself this time when he felt the impulse to reach out and tuck it back. He almost expected to find a tear track glistening down her silver tinged cheek, but her face was dry, though her gaze was bleak.

"I haven't told any stories in a long time," she murmured.

"Guess you're doing that now, huh?" His hand lingered on her shoulder. They both chose to ignore it.

She nodded, taking another breath as if to continue. Then she paused, eyes narrowing, just for a moment, before clearing again.

"I have to tell a bad one," her lips quirked just a bit, "Is it even possible for you not to judge me?"

In that moment, Han hated everything that had risen up between them to make her say that. He hated the little fires he stoked, he hated the walls he compulsively threw up, he hated her unbreakable composure. But, the hand was still there, and it stroked her just a bit, as if sensing its master's need to connect. He gently squeezed the back of her neck and felt her relax into his grip.

Without another hesitation she began, "I wished for this."

He frowned, hand stilling on her neck. Did the Princess just admit to-? "Come again?"

She blushed bright enough that the moonbeams caught it. "I wished for what happened to Alderaan."

That threw some water on his fire. Han shook his head, certain this little woman was going to drive him mad. But as her words settled into his addled brain, he frowned again.

"I know you, Princess." She opened her mouth to argue, and he shook his head turning her to face him so he could say it to her straight. "Whether you like it or not, I do. The good, the bad, and the…irritating," he added a smirk to take out any sting. "You would never wish for that."

Finally, the tears made a showing, and Han wished he hadn't gone looking for them.

"I didn't mean to, but I did all the same," the words came out in a torrent now, "After we told all our stories, we would turn to the future. Each of us would share our hopes and dreams for the New Year. Everyone on Alderaan knew the power of a wish made at midnight…"

Han watched her lips move as if in a dream. Coral pink, the top a little too thin, the bottom a little too full. Her skin glowed alabaster, and her brown eyes swam towards him with consuming depth.

"Last year," her voice was hoarse, "I wished for something to change. I wished that something would push forward the rebellion, make our dreams a reality…"

"And it did," Han finished for her.

She nodded, continuing to stare up at him. Everything had changed for her, for him, for the entire galaxy, the day the Death Star had annihilated Alderaan. Han couldn't help the shiver that ran through him. He didn't know if it had more to do with the silvery feeling of fate or the gnawing question forming in his stomach.

Leia sighed, a relieved if painful sound, "I got what I wished for."

"What did your father say?" Han asked, already knowing the answer but needing it anyway.

She blinked at him, face still open, eyes confused.

"When you said it last New Years?"

"Oh," she turned away, finally breaking the intensity of their stare and allowing Han to take a breath. "I didn't say it to him."

"Weren't you—?"

She shook her head, stretching her hands across the stone ledge in front of her. "My father was sick that year, mother was tending to him. I would have been there, but…" she glanced at him, "I had business elsewhere that night."

The shutters fell on her expression, and Han didn't quite know why he was relieved at that.

"What do you think he would tell you now?" he said, matching her posture and turning toward the moon-bright night.

"He would say, 'Forgive yourself, Lelila. No regrets,'" the warmth in her voice was unmistakable.

"Sounds like a smart guy," Han offered.

"He was good," Leia said softly.

"Doesn't surprise me. Look what he made."

Leia didn't look at him, but he could sense something uncoil within her at his words. It struck Han then, as it hadn't before, that he had some kind of power of Leia Organa. Of course, if that was true, it was only a shadow of the power she had over him.

"If it helps at all, I don't believe in wishes. Shit happens…"

"…and then we die?"

Han smiled, "Well, a lot of other stuff can happen too. Good stuff. But yeah, then we die."

Leia chuckled, a relaxed sound completely at odds with the tension he'd felt from her all day, "Maybe you were the right person to talk to."

"I usually am."

"There you are…" the silky voice sliced into the shared smile that was warming him from the inside out. Han turned to see the redheaded spectre silhouetted by the light from the party.

Leia took a step back and turned to greet her, all politician once more.

"Senator Berrida," she said formally.

"Princess," the woman said warmly. "It's almost midnight. I imagine you'd like to be with your troops."

Leia glanced back at Han, and for a moment, he wasn't sure what she'd do. He wanted to keep her here, wanted to do a lot of things, but the same old hesitation held him back. Whatever question lingered between them withered under the steady gaze of their audience.

"Yes," Leia said at last, "I wouldn't want to miss the dawn of a new era."

Han heard his words repeated back to him and couldn't help a little smile. With a formal nod, Leia turned toward the light and the music and her normal life. Han felt his world get a little less colorful as he watched her slip through the door, eclipsed by the redhead's approach.

She held out a glass of something bubbly. Though Han missed the whiskey, he took a sip anyway, staring back out into the night.

"Aiming a bit high, aren't we?"

Han looked over at her to see her cat-like green eyes measuring him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Leia Organa may be in exile, but she is a powerful piece in a high stakes game. I wouldn't get involved with her if you value your life."

"That a threat?"

Han hadn't taken Leia's words seriously earlier that day. He didn't think the Senator was a double agent. Just a horny broad temporarily cut loose from her duties. But, the ominous tinge to her words, had him questioning his assumption.

She laughed softly into the night. "No," she said, "it's a warning. From one friend to another. Besides," she trailed a fingernail down his chest, sending a spiral of predictable heat to his core. "You're more the turn and burn type. Good for a night or two then off on your merry way. Leia is a forever kind of gal."

"Ten!"

As Han heard the rumble of voices counting down, he gulped down the drink. He never let people tell him who or what he was. But, there was a definite ring of truth in what the woman had just said.

"Eight, Seven…"

"Good thing you know me so well," he replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.

The woman moved her hand lower, caressing him through his pants.

"Five, Four…"

"I'm a great reader of people," she purred leaning forward to tug an earlobe into her mouth. Han groaned, giving into the rush of desire that sprang from her mouth and her hand.

"Two, one…"

It hit him as she tugged his chin down to meet her lips. Leia. It had been Leia. How could he possibly have not placed that little form, those big brown eyes, that quick draw mouth? He had kissed her a year and three months ago, and not even known he was doing it.

Or what lucky bastard he'd been.

He pulled away from the redhead as a thundering cheer went up from inside the party.

"Why do women keep telling me that?"

With that, he turned on his heel and jogged back to the party. He wasn't sure what he was gonna do. But, he knew it involved Leia, and kissing, and possibly forever.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Luke held Leia in his arms whispering to her while she laughed, face bright as a sun beam and warm as a summer's day. He saw it all laid out in technicolor with the height and scope only Leia could lend it. The numbers counting down, the meeting of blue eyes with chocolate brown, Luke pulling her in to clutch her close.

Right.

He may not be the forever type, but Luke was. Luke and Leia made so much damn sense it nearly sobered him up.

"See what I mean, Captain?" a voice whispered in his ear.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

And without another thought, Han grabbed the Senator's hand and followed her out. So much for wishes. Some things never changed.


	3. Borrowed Year

There was nothing like a brush with death to give you a new sense of time. As Leia looked out into the mild Chandrila night, she marveled at the the way the clock had seemed to slow. She took a breath, loving the feel of the cool, moist air carrying the scent of the night blooming jasmine that crept up Mon Mothma's balcony.

It had been 9 days, 13 hours and 28 minutes since Leia had thought her life was over. Where before she'd barreled through her days, head down, heart muted, hope barely holding on, now she looked. She breathed. She took it in.

One of the first things she'd seen was him. Captain Han Solo. Hair a mess, eyes exhausted, mouth tight with worry. She'd been lying in the rebel infirmary for almost two days, barely responding to stimuli, for all intents and purposes in a coma she might never wake up from.

When the bomb had gone off, Leia had known her time was up. It wasn't a surprise really. She'd been living on borrowed time since the Death Star. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock of her mortality had been so present it was almost audible. But, the days had kept coming and the nights had kept her up and there seemed no respite despite the fact that she just knew.

What did she know? A few things. She was a target. The Empire a marksman. She only had so much time.

So, she'd worked. Relentlessly. Tirelessly. In the name of her people, in the name of her father, in the name of her own indomitable spirit. If she was fated to die young, then she would make her mark. She would turn the tide. She would do whatever it was that people do when they have so little time.

It had only stung a little as she'd felt herself lifted off the ground and thrown toward the durasteel staircase. What hurt more was the feeling of not having finished, of having made only a tiny bit of progress.

But, she'd known hadn't she? And she'd tried. She'd tried so hard.

She would have thought, upon waking, that she would redouble her efforts, start the countdown once more. But, as she looked into those hazel eyes filled with grief then joy then a strange combination of both, Leia had felt the queerest thing. Peace. Resignation. Release.

When he'd called for the nurses, she'd let him. When he'd insisted she stay for another night, she'd nodded off to sleep. When he'd stolen her away on his ship, she had taken his hand and hadn't looked back.

It wasn't forever. It was a stolen moment, a little caesura, before the next violent verse began. In Mon Mothma's borrowed flat, Leia would recuperate under the watchful eye of her unlikely protector before returning to the strange reality of her life.

Han had gone out for the first time since they'd arrived, finally trusting her to keep watch over herself. He'd promised to bring back something more delicious than he could make and a few necessities besides.

At first Leia had been a little relieved. The last five days had been the most time she'd ever spent uninterrupted around the Captain. They had been surprisingly easy and entertaining, but full of the strange revelations one encounters when living with somebody new. Their edges bumped up against one another, and there were just some things you couldn't do with a…roommate so close by.

Leia had immediately drawn a bath upon his departure. She had stared at herself in the mirror for a while, as if watching the purple-green bruises would make them dissipate faster. Her body looked like some kind of bizarre modern art, the kind Mon Mothma hung on her walls. Finally she'd torn her eyes away from the sight and hidden herself under a blanket of bubbles.

The old Leia wouldn't have indulged so blatantly, using half the bottle of bath soak, drinking a glass of something sweet and spicy and strong. But, this was her second chance. This was her borrowed moment. And she wasn't going to waste it on restrictions and limitations.

Which brought her to now. To him.

There was one more thing she'd seen in his eyes that day. Want. Open, and unguarded, and so vital. It had called to her like nothing had since the day she'd lost Alderaan and gained her fight. Two years ago. He'd reminded her today that it was their New Years. While Chandrila slept, they would celebrate another year of war and friendship and hope.

Unbidden the memory bloomed within her again, the same hazel eyes, a little younger, a lot sharper, followed by a brush of lips, smooth and soft and warm.

She hadn't known immediately. Thoughts of familiarity and flaring attraction were miles from her mind as she raced through the Death Star trying to outrun her fate. But once the fear had settled, once the hammer hadn't fallen, she'd been struck. The same picture, the same record, the same name.

She had hated him then. Mostly because she didn't want to feel anything and a little bit because he didn't seem to recognize her at all. She'd told herself not to be ridiculous. She had seen his information long before meeting him on Coruscant. As was planned, she had remained anonymous, there for less than fifteen minutes and then gone again.

But, the knowledge still stung. Especially as she watched him make his way through the available women on base. Sometimes she wondered if he stuck around just for the lonely women.

Now, standing in the perfumed air lightyears away from the rest of the rebels, Leia marveled at strength her feelings. Aversion, denial, scorn, hurt, petty jealousy. What might be on the other side of that?

She'd seen a glimpse in the last three days. Han had been attentive, gentle, and wry. He'd made her laugh more times than she could count as he shepherded her through her recovery. He was an unlikely nursemaid, but a thorough one. With his steady attention, she'd nearly regained all her strength (even though she still looked a fright.)

But, he hadn't touched her. Besides changing a few bandages and helping her here or there if she needed it, Han had maintained a safe distance. Always near but never close. And as Leia observed, removed from time as she was, she saw in herself an increasing frustration with this state of things.

It was as if the air between them became more charged with each passing moment. The last time he'd reached out a hand to steady her, there had been an actual shock. Leia knew it didn't work like that, but it had driven the point home all the same.

Other things happened too. Her skin pulsed and tingled, one moment seeming too tight, the next seeming to melt off her. She'd taken to watching him move about the space, catching herself too many times, flushing when he'd catch her first. She had considered setting a timer. When it rings, you may look. Once. Then set it again.

Winter hadn't been wrong. He was absurdly good-looking. In a way that used to make Leia frustrated. Now…

She smoothed her hands down the sleeves of the robe she'd pulled from Mon Mothma's closet. Another move the old Leia would never have made. It was Coruscanti silk, as soft as sin and as light as a feather. If it weren't for the heat of anticipation, Leia would be freezing.

But she wasn't cold, and she wasn't scared, and she wasn't dead.

"Princess?"

His voice held a slight edge of panic. Leia had noticed, in her placid state, that they had seemed to switch personas. Somehow in the space between that bomb going off and her waking up, Leia had started to relax and Han had stopped.

He was wound tight as a bow string, always at the ready, hands and lips never still.

When Chewie had dropped them off, he had said, in Shyriiwook even she could understand, [Calm down, pup. You'll worry her to death.]

"Out here," she called. It took him less than a flick to find her, panting just a bit from a sprint across the apartment.

"Leia," he said, taking her in before scanning the night. "What're you doing out here?"

"Appreciating the view," she said, watching his wariness.

"Well come in, will you? It's cold out here." He beckoned her in with a flourish, and she noticed again that he stopped just shy of touching her.

She turned out to the night again. Hanna City glittered beyond the balcony. She'd been here a few times in her old life. She had always loved the political climate of the city, the way everyone was on the make and everything was steeped in history.

"Where did you end up?"

"A Takodannan place down the street. Didn't want to go too far. Besides," she felt him come a little nearer. "I promised you something delicious."

"You know, you underrate yourself. Everything you make is good," she glanced at him as he came level with her.

"Didn't say it wasn't," he flashed her a cocky grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Just isn't that special."

Leia let the comment slide. Him cooking for her was incredibly special. But, she understood the sentiment, and she watched the ghosts float by on a current of time and distance.

"What is that?" Han's voice had changed, a new depth to his tone.

"Mmm?" she hummed still letting go of the wisps of regret.

She felt the finger slide along her arm the way one might feel the slice of blade, hot, intense, and inevitable. When he removed it, she couldn't help but look at him accusingly.

"Sorry," he murmured, stepping back a little.

"It's Mon's. Silk. And graylock, I think." In demonstration, Leia reached for his hand and brought it to the delicate fur collar. She guided his hand across it, watching his face register the gesture.

The fire ignited again, the one that made his hazel eyes seem gold, the one that ignited a similar fire deep in her belly.

"You look good," he said, voice quiet and hand still.

"I feel good."

"Well, then I'm doing my job," he said with a wry smile.

"Is that why you're here? A job?"

He stared at her for a moment before dropping his gaze to his hand. He slid it up the fur decisively and cradled her neck. His fingers were a strange combination of rough and soft, their warmth seeping into her chilled skin.

"I'm here because I want to be. And because Luke has to stay with the Rogues."

Leaning forward, he planted a kiss on her forehead and released her, leading the way back toward the dining room. Leia stared after him, a little dazed by their momentary closeness.

"Come in, Princess. Time to eat."

Han stood at the door, silhouetted by the bright light spilling into the darkness. He was tall, and strong, and beautiful as always. Leia couldn't help but thrill at the fact that he was hers. Even if it was only for a moment, a few more stolen hours, away from the bustle of the base.

For a little while, there were no distractions and no complications. Just the two of them. And a dinner that wasn't rations.

The air inside the apartment was warm and thickly scented with the smell of fresh, hot food. Though Leia hadn't been very hungry before, she felt a healthy appetite stir as she breathed it all in. Han set about spreading out an assortment of plates and boxes, unwrapping the traditional carved hooks that Taakodannans used to pick up their richly slathered meats.

As usual Han had a knack for giving her exactly what she wanted. It was an odd talent, one it had taken her a long time to suss out. In the early days, their meals together were infrequent and usually in the mess hall. But as time went on Han had invited her more and more to the Falcon. Well, her and Luke, sometimes Wedge, and lately Luke's sometime girlfriend.

Leia had had her doubts about the Corellian smuggler's cooking. She had always figured that Han would be as dismissive about that part of life as he was about everything else. Those were the days before she'd really started to understand Solo. Before she'd learned how incredibly fastidious he could be about the things he cared about.

Cooking, apparently, was one of those things. He'd always have something different: spices from this planet or delicacies from that. It became clear he was an avid eater — he liked to try anything he could get his hands on. And the more Leia came to the Falcon, the more Han seemed to tailor his choices to her.

He'd also turned her onto new things. While Leia had banqueted on many planets with countless people and species, she'd rarely tried their street foods or their country staples. And she'd never been to the far corners of the universe the way Han had. She'd never admit it to him, but under his tutelage her tastes had become much broader and more refined.

Tonight, Leia's mouth watered at the smell of the spicy sweetness she'd come to associate with the Taakodannan cuisne. She sighed a little, eyeing Mon Mothma's impressive wine collection.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart." Han teased.

Leia grimaced at him.

"There's a wonderful looking red from Naboo that would go perfectly—"

Han cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Got one more day of V. If you drink alcohol, it won't work as well."

"I know, I know," Leia flopped into the overstuffed dining chair like a petulant child. "I'm taking one when we leave tomorrow."

Han didn't hide his smile, amusement lighting up his eyes. Leia couldn't help the grin that spread across her face in response. Few things in the universe were as beautiful as that man's smile. That was simply a fact.

"Never see you smile like that," he said, taking the seat across from her.

"Yes, you do," she chided, digging into the box in front of her.

"Not at me," he countered, sliding another toward his plate.

Leia glanced up to see him studiously munching on a pepper that was hot enough to make her tear up.

"I'll have to rectify that."

Han stared at her a moment. She couldn't tell if his slight flush had more to do with the peppers or her words.

"I'll hold you to it," he said.

Another shared smile and then they were tucking into their feast. They said little as they ate, letting the food speak for itself. As the eating slowed, Han told her a story about the vendor that had Leia laughing hard and long. Her smile faded as he, like clockwork, stood to retrieve the nightly vial from the sideboard.

"One more time," he said upon seeing the look on her face.

Leia knew the medicine was necessary, but that didn't make it anymore appealing.

"Just a little while longer?" she asked, reminding herself of that child again. She wasn't sure what child it was. Leia had always extremely well-behaved, the kind of child who always picked up her toys and put herself to more nights than not.

Han squinted at her, looking oddly torn.

"Sooner you take it, sooner it'll be over."

Leia wasn't sure he meant the medication or the trip. Their plan was to return to the fleet tomorrow, a prospect that had Leia feeling decidedly ambivalent.

"You want me to sleep through our last night?"

It wasn't her imagination, Han looked definitely torn at this. His fingers drummed against his thigh and he blinked a few too many times.

'Want you to get better."

The words settled into the space almost vulnerable, almost matter of fact.

"I feel just fine."

Han said nothing as she took the vial and set it on the table next to her. Of course she'd be taking it, doing her duty as she always did. But tonight, their last night, she wanted more—

"Time to clear the dishes then," Han's voice rang unnaturally loud. "If you'd taken your meds, you wouldn't have to help."

He pulled away again, setting about studiously gathering and stacking. Leia hadn't given much thought to where their plates had gone after each meal. Her nights had consisted of eating, medicating, and sleeping.

Sometimes a brief moment in Han's arms if he carried her into her bedroom…

"Isn't there a droid for this?" she said, feeling somewhat guilty.

Han shrugged. "Do it myself on the Falcon. Just habit I guess."

Leia trailed after him as he deposited the the go-boxes in the trash and set the rest in the sink. Mon Mothma's kitchen was well-stocked, but it had the look of a mausoleum.

Leia stared at Han's back as he washed the few dishes they'd used. He wore a light sweater of dark green. Leia was fairly certain she'd never seen him in something so…normal. Of course, she hadn't seen a lot of the real him until the last week.

"Han," she said as he laid the last dish in the drain.

His shoulders tensed and he paused, but he didn't turn toward her.

"What are you waiting for?"

This made him turn. He stared at her, his eyes surprisingly dark in the dull kitchen light.

"Princess—"

"We're here," she continued, moving towards him, "Alone. No rebellion, no distractions. I know you want me."

His eyes narrowed but his breath caught as she traced her hand along the side of his face.

"How do you know that?" his voice had deepened in a way that sent a shiver her her spine.

"I finally looked," she replied. It wasn't really answer, but it was the truth.

He leaned into her touch, and she stepped a bit closer, so the fur and the tips of her breasts underneath brushed against his chest. He was so much taller that the natural next move was to place her cheek against him and let his head rest on top of hers.

In a sudden rush, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her tightly against him. Finally, they were close. She slid her hands around his ribcage and along the soft wool of his sweater, breathing in the scent that she'd loved since around the time they'd managed to wash off the stench of that garbage shoot.

"Why'd it have to be now, Leia? Couldn't you have looked before?"

Leia felt a fist clench her heart. Was it too late? Had he met someone who mattered? Was he leaving the way he'd always threatened? What did he mean?

"Yeah, I want you. Wanted you since the first time I saw you."

His hands ran up and down her back, pressing and skimming. She felt a strange mixture of elation and confusion. She almost asked him what first time he was talking about, but she couldn't allow herself to be distracted from the heady moment at hand.

"So, take me. I'm here. Right here," she said, tilting her face up to him.

The expression she found there was pained, drawn, and greedy all at once. It certainly wasn't the look she expected.

He raised a hand to her face and stroked back her hair, leaning forward to drop a kiss at her temple. Then he placed his lips on her earlobe, gliding down to her neck. He kissed her chin, then her cheek, then her nose, then her eyes, but never, never brushed her mouth.

"Han," she whimpered as he pulled his face away. She felt as if she were on fire, and was fairly certain she could feel the evidence of his own desire pressing against her belly.

"You know why I brought you here?" He said, voice low and oddly measured.

She frowned, eyes fixed on his lips, thoughts swirling in a dance of lust and longing.

"To heal?"

He nodded, but she could tell that wasn't it.

"That stuff you're on,"

"The Vryrea," Leia clarified.

"Yeah. It's the only thing that could have saved you after that blast. But, it isn't exactly a normal drug they have around a hospital. I only know about it because of Jabba. It's something the kingpins use in the underworld…for a few different purposes."

Leia frowned at this. She felt her mind clear just a bit and the more logical, curious side of her emerge. Her internal bleeding had been so serious that even bacta wouldn't have brought her back. When Han had shown up with this medicine, the medical staff had said it was a miracle.

"What are the other purposes?"

Han looked away. She could feel his shift in energy, the intention to pull away, but she gripped him harder and willed him to look at her.

"They use it on their girls."

A chill skittered down Leia's spine.

"It amps up the life-force. When you're injured that energy is channeled into creating cells and new tissues. When you are healthy, that energy is diverted in different ways. It makes a woman fertile, and um—"

"Aroused," Leia finished for him. She felt her face flame, even as she continued to cling to him like a limpet.

He let out a short breath that ruffled against her hair. "Yeah."

Leia's mind was whirling again. She didn't want to think about the implications of what he'd just said. Were these girls willing? Had he used it before in this way? What had he done to get his hands on this supply?

But the most pressing question escaped her lips first, "Then why did you bring me here?"

Even though the logical part of her brain knew better, a wild, frightened part of Leia wondered if he'd thought to take advantage of the situation. If he'd brought her here so he could have her all to himself.

It was enough to make her pull away, even though every molecule in her body screamed with frustration at the move. That pulse between them was even stronger now that she'd been surrounded by that scent, those arms, the touch of those lips.

The drawn, pained look was back on his face as he took a step back from her.

"No, it isn't what you think. That's exactly why I brought you here. I mean," he hurried as he saw the look on her face, "I knew what the side effects were. I knew it would get worse as you got better. I thought…"

He ran his hand through his hair, and looked around as if searching for the right words.

"I thought you wouldn't want to be that vulnerable there. The doctors on base didn't know the drug. At first, I was gonna tell them, but the more I thought about it…"

Leia felt herself relax as she saw the truth spread out across his face. He wasn't lying. He never lied to her. And he'd been right. The thought of anyone on base knowing about what this drug would do to her filled her with humiliation and not a small amount of fear.

"You were right," she said. "It would have been dangerous if that information had gotten into the wrong hands."

Han nodded, relief splashed across his face. "Sometimes the girls would use it to drug the bosses right back. You can pretty much make someone do anything while they're under the influence."

Leia stared at him, once again aware of the gulf of life experience that lay between them. She couldn't quite bring herself to care, but now she wondered if that had to do more with him or the drug.

"So, why didn't you tell me?"

Han cringed again, bringing his hands together.

"I hoped I wouldn't need to. Wasn't sure how strong the effect would be. And it makes you go to sleep every time you take it, so…"

Leia frowned at him, allowing him to trail off before shaking her head.

"No," she said. "No?" he said, perplexed.

"Never don't tell me something. I don't care if you think you're protecting me. I deserve to know the truth. And if you don't tell me, I won't be able to trust you."

Han looked at her. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

"That's fair," he said.

Leia nodded and waited for one of them to speak again. They didn't. The room's silence was suddenly deafening as Leia contemplated her options.

She could take the dose and fall asleep, letting this whole thing pass into tomorrow. She could chew him out a little more and make it abundantly clear that she would never tolerate dishonesty. Or…

"So, what if I don't care?"

Han blinked at her.

"Huh?"

"What if I want to do it anyway?"

He suddenly had the look of a cornered animal. "Do what?"

A lot of options flew through Leia's head, most involving fewer clothes and more horizontal surfaces. But she grabbed at the nearest and most immediate.

"Kiss you."

Han drew in a breath as she took a step forward.

"It's New Years," she added.

"Can't let you do that," he said, looking as if they were the last words he wanted to utter.

"I don't need your permission," Leia said, a bit tartly.

"Oh yeah? How would you feel if I said that same thing to you, Princess?"

That caused her to stop, to catch his eyes and look for something.

"You really don't want me to?"

Humor and discomfort warred in his gaze.

"It ain't about that. It's about trust. It's about me caring about you."

Leia stared at him, feeling a mixture of awe and annoyance.

"I think this is the most you've ever talked about feelings," she said.

"Could say the same thing about you," he challenged.

But he had taken her hand, and she felt the same rush and tingle and clarity she always did when he touched her.

"It isn't just now," she murmured. "I've—"

"Princess, don't," he said, with a finality that seemed to flow into her. "None of this is real, you get me? If you want to come to me in a month and say the same thing."

Leia made a guttural sound and broke away, finally turning her back on him.

"But I won't. Don't you understand? I can't. I thought…" she suddenly felt her eyes fill with tears, "I thought that I was different, that I had changed because I'd almost died. But, it wasn't that, it was a drug," she turned on him accusingly. "So, when this is all over, I'll go back to being the way I always was. Broken, and driven, and cold, and alone."

"Yeah," he said, "Maybe you will. Or maybe you won't. But, know what? I'll be there. Whoever you turn out to be."

"Will you? Aren't you always saying that you're one mission from leaving us in the dust?"

He breathed. "That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before you almost ended up pinned to the side of an Imperial Base."

"What did that change?"

He sighed, "everything."

The silence filled the space again, but this time it had a different quality. A little more peaceful and less oppressive.

"So…you're staying?"

He nodded.

"Yeah."

It would have been a great moment for a kiss. Leia could see it in her mind: the surge forward the crashing of their lips, the way they would drink in each other's very essence. But, she stayed where she was. He was right. They deserved the real thing, whatever or whenever that was.

"I will kiss you one day," she said instead.

He gave her a wry smile, full of warmth and regret and hope.

"I know."

With a nod, she left the room, aware of him following her. She took the vial into her hands and looked back at him.

"You should open the bottle," she murmured. "It's New Years."

He looked back at it and shrugged, "I'll wait for you."

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, allowing it to dangle from his fingers.

"Can't ring in a New Year without the good stuff."

He followed her out onto the balcony again. They night was quiet. There were no fireworks, no shouts of gaiety, but Leia didn't need them to know something had changed.

They stood closer now, shoulder to shoulder, looking out into the void.

"I think we both know what we wish tonight," she said.

"Didn't you say they always come true?"

Leia looked up at him, feeling a flutter of something resembling excitement.

"In my experience, they do."

Han nodded, looking out into the night.

"I'll drink to that."

Leia smiled.

"Well, that's your tradition, isn't it?"

Han looked down at her, a question forming in his eyes, but Leia tipped back her vial, ready for this year to be over and for the next one to begin.

Immediately, she felt the lethargy steal through her veins as the medicine went to work on the last of her healing. Han slid an arm around her waist as she leaned into him. He dropped a couple kisses on her head, and whispered to her in a lilting, lullaby voice.

"The first time I saw you, I knew things were never going to be the same. It's been a weird ride, a long one, but I'm glad I'm on it. Happy New Year, my…"


	4. Blue Year

Leia had the feeling she was swimming. Her hard, long, precise strokes cut through the water. Her body heaved and seized as she moved forward, towards a destination that was so brilliantly clear in her mind. And yet, she just kept swimming. Forward, longer, harder, stronger, sure, sure, sure. And then not. What if her forward was backward? What if her arms were giving out? What if the destination that she had held in her mind for so long was only a dream, and she was on a planet covered entirely in water?

Leia dragged in a breath as she heard her name called in a sharp, ringing voice.

She looked up and remembered where she was. With the Alliance. On a planet that was 63% covered in water. In the middle of yet another fucking meeting.

"Mon," Leia ground out, staring down the woman in front of her.

"What is the status on Mission 2207?"

Leia swallowed, "Inconclusive."

Mon looked grim, edging on empathetic. Leia could feel the barely concealed judgement, the thoughts practically slipping from Mon's brain to hers. A waste of resources. A waste of time. A hopeless cause.

"Please alert us to any changes," she said in a low, measured tone.

* * *

Leia burst into the hallway, fighting against a crowded of rowdy pilots making their way towards the mess. Everyone was happy, filled with the manic energy of an approaching party. They were grateful to be alive and determined to make the most of it for this one evening.

Leia's heart lurched as she thought yet again of the night to come. She would attend the party, she would show her face, maybe even smile once or twice, but there would be one glaring absence that would gnaw at her until she made it back to her quarters into the welcome oblivion of sleep.

She tried not to think of it as she found a small door tucked into the side of the hallway and punched a code into the frame. It slid open, revealing little more than a closet, but the most important place in the universe to Princess Leia Organa.

She slid into the lone chair, a rickety thing she had taken from a conference room upon learning it was broken. It listed a little to the left, but the bantha skin was worn and soft and the arm rests were low enough for Leia's slight frame.

Flipping on some switches, Leia slid the head phones over her braids and listened for a moment. There was nothing to listen to, but the door and the headpiece gave her a sense of peace and a moment of respite that she rarely had these days. There wasn't any time for that anymore.

The feeling returned, of slicing through water, of drowning just a little more with every tired stroke.

"Gambler's Bluff, come in."

Her voice sounded a parsec away through the headphones. She turned up the volume and listened intently for a moment.

Nothing.

"Gambler's Bluff, come in. This is Scoundress."

A bit of static came through and Leia scrambled to balance out the frequencies.

"Chewie?" she said into the dim quiet of the room.

Nothing.

Chewbacca and Lando had left over a month ago on a tip that had taken them far past the Outer Rim. Keeping track of Boba Fett had turned out to be impossible in the months directly following Bespin. Their original plan of heading him off in the desert of Tatooine had failed spectacularly when the bounty hunter had never shown. Smarter than he seemed, it had become clear he was determined to wait them out and keep his prize hidden away.

What had followed had been the grimmest game of hide and seek that Leia could ever imagine. Chewie and Lando scoured the scum of the universe, Leia searched the air waves, and Luke wound his way through the Force, but none of them had managed to pinpoint the Bounty Hunter in time.

The latest intel had taken the pair into a star cluster famous for jamming ships' communications and fabled to be the resting place of too many spacers. Leia had tried to protest, but the desire for him, the ache that burned in her heart day in and day out had been too much to resist. She comforted herself with the knowledge that nothing from her lips could have stopped the wandering duo. Each had a life debt of their own to repay, and repay it they very well might.

"Gambler's Bluff, you are clear for landing," Leia said, "Sentries have been notified for a manual landing if need be."

They were supposed to arrive back today. This was the latest rendezvous they had all agreed on. Today was the last day before the worry really started.

Leia snorted at this.

Worry was what she lived with. Worry was all she had.

What if they never found him? What if she had to give up? What if she had to move on?

Leia had always been a stoic, ready to do the thing that must be done. But for some reason, this thing, this one hope - the hope of seeing her beloved's face one million more times - wouldn't be parted with. It clung to her hips and burrowed into her hair and kissed her lips again and again with the promise of one day, this time, you'll see.

She leaned back in her chair as she listened to the silence, overwhelmed once again with his presence.

Knowing Han Solo had been something she wasn't prepared for.

She had thought of kissing him, fantasized about sleeping with him, but she'd never really contemplated the intimacy of love.

It was a sort of imprinting, an osmosis, that stayed with you long after the subject was gone. She could still feel his hands, still breath his scent, still hear his voice is in the shell of her ear. All it took was a little silence, and the reality of him rushed back in.

"You're gonna get space sick."

The rumble of his baritone tickled her senses as strong arms wrapped around her from behind.

"You always say that," she whispered, loathe to disturb the serene blankness of space. She had crept down to the gun turret sometime in the middle of the night. Of course, there were no real nights here on a hunk of junk drifting slowly toward a foreign planet. There were just the times they ate, the times they slept, and the times they made love.

Han kissed the side of her neck, choosing to answer with her favorite method. He traced a path up to her earlobe and nibbled on it for a moment, sparking little lightning bolts and rolling little breaths of thunder.

He didn't ask her why she woke in the middle of the night. Sometimes Leia wanted him to, other times she was relieved he didn't. It seemed to go without saying. Where was Luke? When would they arrive? Why did she have this gnawing, aching fear of what lay ahead?

No, Han didn't ask. But, he would pull her back in. When Leia would come down and drift out among the stars, tempted more by the blackness than those tiny balls of light, Han would seek her out and be her tether. Slowly but surely he would reel her back in with the touch of his fingers and the whisper of his lips.

"I dreamed about you again," he said, as he splayed a large, workman's hand against her belly. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then rested his chin there as he spoke. "We were swimming."

"You like that one," she whispered, feeling a little bit closer to the ship and her lover.

"I _love_ that one," he said, the hint of a smile coloring his voice, "You were laughing, and I was—"

"Being a scoundrel?" Now Leia was smiling. She could swear she had had this one before too. The one where she laughed and he teased her, bobbing up and down, pinching her and puling her close.

"Nah…" he said, his hand sliding a little lower until his fingers brushed her waistband. "I was just watching you."

"Sounds like a boring dream," Leia sighed, as his fingers skimmed below the material and the heat bloomed within her like a summer gale off the shore of Aldera.

"The best kind," he said. And she understood, a little. Certainly, their lives weren't boring. What would she and Han do if they didn't have a war to fight or a new danger to face?

"Do you love me?" Leia said, as his hand slipped through her curls and toward its destination.

She felt a little guilty asking. She had yet to make her own feelings known and a little part of her (read: all of her) knew it bothered him. But, she was greedy and lonely and it was the surest way of bringing her back to their little piece of the universe.

"Yes," he breathed, already swept up in the tide of passion that so easily took them. "I love the way you laugh, and I love the way you don't sleep, and I love the feel of me inside you."

His fingers parted her folds and slid inside as his other hand grasped hers. He sucked her neck as he guided her hand upward, placing their joined fingers on her breast. Leia closed her eyes, finally blocking out the haunting vaccuum beyond and fully allowing herself to feel.

She never felt safer or more fully herself than when she was surrounded by him. The concept had scared her for the first couple weeks of their time on board the Falcon. But, at some point, she'd stopped caring. With so many calamities behind them and ahead, why struggle against something that felt so kreffing good?

And it did feel good. His lean, muscular body shielding her like a carapace. His fingers plumbing her warm, wet center. His tongue and teeth and breath gilding her neck. She felt like an idol, like a thing to be worshiped when she was in his embrace.

But it wasn't enough, it was never enough.

"Han," she breathed. "Han, let me kiss you."

"…kinda hard not to."

Leia shot up in her seat, heart pounding and head spinning. She looked wildly around the little room, sucking in a lungful of dust motes and quiet. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across her skin as the arousal dampened and spiky logic set in.

A dream. It was a—

"I know, I've made you…"

Leia dove for the controls, hands shaking and eyes filling. For a moment all she heard was static, loud and leering. Then a hiccup. Then that voice once again.

"Leia—I love you—"

"Han."

* * *

"Are you sure?" Luke said, frowning into the gloom.

Leia had brought him to the room after she had rung herself out from the tears that had fallen so freely after that hearing his voice for the first time in months.

9 months. Enough time to create a new life. And now they might get that chance.

Luke's eyes were closed, and Leia felt a prickle as the energy shifted in the room. It was a strange phenomena that she had only ever experienced with Luke. She knew he must be very powerful indeed if she could feel the atmosphere shift when he worked with the force.

"I can't feel him," he said.

Leia felt an irrational surge of hate at his words.

Luke's eyes popped open, "But, I can't feel any of them," he chided.

He'd been saying this for a month. Something about losing their scent the same way a dog might, once they went into the Semudia Nebula.

"I'm sorry," Leia said, as she felt the anger drain away. She could never stay mad at Luke and always felt awful when he'd catch her in a quick moment of temper.

He smiled at her, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"You never have to say that," he said. "I know you don't mean it."

He made to move away, but Leia held onto him. They'd become undeniably close. Close in a way that made Leia wonder sometimes if Han would take issue. If she should take issue. But, it didn't feel wrong. It felt like both Luke and Han could have more than enough room in her heart.

"You aren't hearing it?"

Her voice sounded small, like a little girl's. And Luke squeezed her hand, beginning to shake his head. Then his blue eyes widened and his mouth went slack.

Leia's heart pounded while she watched Luke brighten then screw his face in concentration, adjust a knob or two then brighten again.

"He keeps cutting out."

Leia nodded eagerly, she'd already determined that the communications jam must still be in effect. But there was no question it was his voice. The same clear baritone, the same wry tone, the same shiver up her spine.

"He said something about being realistic then," Luke chuckled a bit, "definitely heard sweetheart and…" he closed his eyes, breathing patiently. "Calm down, Leia. I can't focus over you."

Leia let out a breath and took a few deep ones the way Luke had taught her. He said it made both of them better able to think clearly.

Then Luke smiled, "He says he could still make it."

Leia watched him like the most compelling holodrama on the interweb. Then he grimaced and broke there grasp pulling the headphones off his ears.

"Static," he said. "Ow."

He rubbed his hand over his ear as he handed the headphones back to her. Leia raised them to her ear but quickly replaced them as she heard the screeching that signaled another blank zone.

"You think he means…"

"Tonight?" Leia finished. She looked up at the chrono on the wall. 8:35. A little more than three hours before midnight.

"They could make it by the New Year," Luke said, a tone of wonder and joy in his tone she hadn't heard since rescuing him from Bespin. Leia smiled at him, probably the first full smile he'd seen since that day too.

"That would be just like him," she said. "Dramatic entrance in the eleventh hour."

Even as she joked, she felt her eyes fill with tears. It had been so long. Such a long, hard battle to this moment.

Luke nodded, solemnity overtaking his features. "Wouldn't that be something?"

* * *

Leia's hands shook as she put the finishing touches on her face. It took all her concentration to hold the little tube in her hand steady as she traced the shape of her lips.

He was coming.

She hadn't worn makeup since the day he left her. That garish costume that she had enjoyed so much when she'd first put it on and loathed as she stripped it off mere hours later. While Han had been gods knew where and she had been locked up in her chambers like a naughty child.

She had stared at her face in the mirror before the guards had come for her. Her red lips and rosy cheeks had seemed so at odds with the pallor of her clammy skin. She had angrily wiped it off right as the doors had swished open.

Leia was a practical person. She was neither vain nor petulant. She understood her duties. One of which was to look presentable, to put on a brave front for the troops who fought so hard for their cause. She hadn't meant to abandon those duties. It had just been all she could do to pull herself out of bed in the morning and plunge into another day.

It was selfish. Her father would not have approved. Of course, her father would not have approved of the reason for her sorrow at all. Han Solo was not the kind of man Bail would like.

Oh, he'd have respected him. He'd have recognized the bravery, ingenuity, and surprising selflessness Leia had seen in him from day one. (Once he had thoroughly proved her wrong.)

But, Bail would never have liked him. He was too brash, too mutable, too _. And even though he put his life on the line again and again, it wasn't for a greater cause but rather only for people he loved. Bail had been a man of vision, who could think beyond his own narrow life and devote himself to the lives of many. The only people he could truly love were those who shared that vision with him.

And Leia had. She did. She was in this war for all the right reasons and would devote her life to making sure those reasons were met. Han was in it for all the wrong reasons: their names were Leia, Luke and Chewie.

And Leia loved that fact more than anything else.

There was a coldness to the heroic kind of love. It was safe, and distant, and proper. Han's love was visceral and present and all about the energy that existed between two people. Him and her. Han and Leia. And no one else.

Leia hadn't realized how much she'd tired of sharing her loves with the great wide universe. Though it made her cringe, Leia wanted desperately one thing that was only for herself.

Her lipstick applied, Leia took in the picture she made. She looked older. Suddenly a woman, rather than a girl. But the effect wasn't unpleasant. She tried to imagine how he would react to this new, older Leia.

"Look at you," he'd murmur, fingers tracing the side of her face.

Leia would try not to cry. (Another thing Bail would not approve of), but as he pulled her in she would fail.

"Shhh…" he'd say into her hair. "It's alright. I'm here."

"Han," she'd say, relishing in the feeling. "Han," she'd say again, the word feeling exotic and so lovely, like the first rays of sun after a long space trip.

He would wait for her, stroking his hand over her hair, knowing she'd have more to say than that. And then she'd finally have her chance, she'd finally get to tell him the thing she'd wished she had said one hundred more times.

"I love you," she'd say. Over and over and over until she'd made up for every time he'd said it to her. She would say it until she didn't know the meaning anymore, until the words became nonsense things, strange to the ear and foreign to the tongue.

He would chuckle, clutching her tighter, pressing kisses to the crown of her head. "Say it again, Princess. Loud enough for everyone to hear."

"I love you," Leia would beam up at him. "I love you, I love you, I—"

The kiss would come swift and consuming. It might come sooner than that. Leia tried to imagine it. The brush of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, the vibration of the little sounds he made in this throat. But, the sensation was…blurry. She could almost recall it, then she couldn't quite capture the essence, couldn't quite hold onto the feel.

Leia felt a fear engulf her. What if she was forgetting? What if he would disappear from her memory, like her people, like her planet, like her parents?

It took a few moments, the edge of her chest of her drawers and some calming breaths for Leia to remember that she wouldn't need her memory after tonight. He would place he lips where they were meant to be at the stroke of twelve and they would begin a new era together.

She told herself this walking down the hallway. She told herself this nodding at the troops. She told herself this as she stood like a statue on a dais with the other members of command.

Every moment seemed an eternity as she waited for the call. The little beeping that would sound at her hip when they were in sight of the sentries. She knew there was nothing she could do, nothing she could do but wait in this sea of people, trusting that her rescue craft would arrive.

"Leia," Luke's voice snapped her out of her trance. "They've exited hyperspace. I can feel them again." The look on his face was pensive rather than joyous. But, Leia didn't wait to see it change. She took off like shot, streaking through the hallways and onto the hangar floor.

The Falcon wasn't in view yet, but she could almost swear she felt her too. A tingling familiarity, an ache of longing, and safety and home. Leia frowned before she smiled at her thought. That bucket of bolts a home? Oh how the mighty had fallen.

But fallen she had, for a man and his crew and his ridiculous ship. She practically bounced on her heels, staring through the blast doors up into the inky sky. But she didn't have long to wait as a twinkle became a blur then quickly morphed into the shape of the ship she so longed to see.

It roared as it came into the empty hanger sending blast of dust and steam toward them as it made its less than graceful landing. Leia's heart pounded in her chest as some far-off part of her remembered all the times she had greeted the Falcon in the past.

It was shocking to realize that up until this moment, she had never wanted him to know she was waiting for him. She would always have an excuse. "I'm just walking to a meeting, I'm doing checks with the pilots, Command wants to send you out again immediately" (her least favorite one). And Han would grin at her or scowl depending on his mood, but he would always stop what he was doing, gifting his full attention to her.

"So what you really mean to say is you missed me?"

And it would make her knees weak, her insides melt and a smile inevitably tug at her lips. She would forget why she'd come, she'd stutter, or blush and then find something to get mad at so she could escape before he saw too much.

This time there'd be no pretending. This time she would stand her ground. No. Throw herself into his arms and tell him how much she'd missed him, how much she loved him…

The hatch released with a hiss and Leia felt herself surge forward. Luke's hand on her arm didn't stop her, but it comforted her while the platform lowered.

She knew what she'd see, an exhausted crew, carrying a haggard man between them. Maybe he'd be looking down, but he'd glance up as they hit the hangar floor, used to finding her here every time he came h—

But the picture was wrong. _ somehow. She saw Lando, then Chewie, both looking as exhausted as she imagined but they were alone and a heaviness still on shoulders that had been so gloriously gone in her vision.

"Leia…" Luke murmured, just as she pulled away.

"Where is he?"

Her voice rang out clear and confident into the space. It startled her in the same way it startled the two spacers in front of her.

"Who?" Lando queried, as Chewie made a harrumphing sound.

"Han," she said, relying on that same voice again, of the politician, the Princess, the bitch. "I heard him on the comm. I heard him."

She was faltering. Her logic was too sharp, too precise to miss the bewilderment blooming on their faces and discomfort twitching through their expressions.

She shook her head and stepped onto the ramp, pushing past both traitor and Wookie, determined to outrun their blank stares and discover the truth.

She didn't call out his name. But she ran full tilt to his cabin. Heart pounding, hands slipping, she palmed the door and breathed in the familiar stale scent. Musk, and engine grease, and soap and…stale. The bed was empty, the lights were dim, and she could feel in her bones that he hadn't been here.

Shaking her head she darted back through the door and around the ship to the medical bunk. He had to be there. Maybe he was worse than she'd feared, maybe he was barely holding on, and they didn't want to tell her for fear that he'd drift away before she could—

Nothing. No one. Empty.

No. No. No.

Leia stood shaking as her two realities battled for dominance. The one that had heard his voice saying her name, claiming his love, promising to come home. And this one, the one before her full of empty beds and emptier promises.

"He isn't here."

Luke's voice was soothing and sounded so much older than it should have.

"I felt it when they entered the atmosphere, but it didn't make any sense. I thought maybe because of the carbonite, maybe his life force was weak…"

Leia nodded but couldn't bring herself to speak. Of course, he wasn't here. Of course, her heart had to break another time. Why did she fight so hard for this universe that only caused her so much unutterable pain?

She'd thought of giving up before. She was only human, despite what some of the flight crew said. She'd let her limbs give out, the water fill her lungs, and she'd sink down and down and down.

[Come here, little one.]

Chewie's words cut through her confusion, as a paw gently steered her back through to the common area.

Lando was there, looking grim. Why did everyone look that way around her? She only realized he was holding something when he leaned down and stuck it into a waiting R2. When had he arrived?

It was unintelligible at first, a cavalcade of sounds and static, racing images that fractured then formed into a face.

[He made it before we left Hoth. In case we didn't make it back.]

Lando picked up, "It was in the ship's system. We think it must have been coming through the comm, as the Nebula scrambled our frequencies…"

[It's for your eyes only,] Chewie said, warbling an order to depart to the other men.

Lando quickly complied, but Luke lingered. Leia could feel his eyes on her questing for assurances that she'd be alright, that he wasn't needed.

[Come on, cub. She's stronger than she looks.]

The old her would have taken issue with that, but this hollowed out version couldn't bring herself to care.

As soon as the door slid closed behind them, R2 bleeped inquisitively.

"Yes, R2," Leia rasped, "Please go ahead."

And there he was. Transluscent as a ghost, but undeniably him, almost exactly as she'd last seen him. A little hungrier perhaps, but hers. He glanced up at the camera, frowned a bit, adjusted something then took a breath.

"Hey, so if you're watching this…well, it ain't good for me. Probably ain't so good for you either. Don't really want to think about the inevitable, but…kinda hard not to. I knew what I was getting myself into with Jabba. I could handle that. It gets harder when it's not just yourself."

Something shifted in his eyes, his mouth softened just a bit.

"And, the truth is, it isn't. Just me."

He ran a flustered hand through his hair and looked off to the side.

"I know, I've made you mad. I know, maybe, I've hurt you. Look, I just couldn't have left if you were sweet. And I had to prepare you for the worst."

His gaze was back on her, through the lens of the camera, steady and laser focused.

"But, I want you to know, I never planned on staying away. The goal was to take care of this thing and come right back. Willingly throw myself back into the center of what might be the most hopeless cause in history because I…well, because Leia, I…I love you."

He looked mildly surprised by this, even though he'd clearly made the decision to say it.

"Yeah. Bet you didn't see that coming. Well, maybe you did. I didn't. Gods, I didn't. Thought I'd never be so lucky. Cause being around you. Even in your periphery, even when you don't like me - it's a privilege." There was a smile, heart stopping and maddening in equal measure. "You are…something else, you know that? Never met a woman like you, and never want to again."

Then he was serious again, pensive as he continued on.

"There is one thing I regret. I mean, there's a lot of things, but I'm being realistic here. A couple months ago you promised me something. You told me you'd kiss me one day. Well, looks like I'm gonna miss that day, sweetheart. Well, he will. The guy who ends up on the wrong end a rancor."

His bitter smile was short-lived, and suddenly he had the look of a fugitive, haunted and a little desperate.

"I could still make it. But if I don't. Well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not there to help you keep that promise."

Leia's heart sank as he nodded with a certain flair of formality and reached toward the camera. Then he paused and leaned back again, an almost cheeky smile back in place.

"Hey, you know it was me right? I figured sometime later than I should've that you must've known. You're a helluva lot smarter than me. Can that kiss count? Can it count for all the kisses I'll never give you, all the moments we'll never share? Don't wanna pretend to be a poet here, but time kinda stopped after that night anyway. Maybe that can live, frozen in time."

The avid light left his eyes, and an almost paternal determination took its place.

"But you shouldn't, Princess. I'm assuming a lot here, but I think you might be a little sad right now. Think you called yourself broken once. Well, Leia, I'm here to tell you you're not broken. Not by Alderaan, not by Vader, and, sure as hell, not by me."

He leaned closer to the camera, and for a moment, Leia felt like he was right here with her.

"You're whole and strong and so damn good. It shines out of you, like the starlight that guides lonely spacers home. You're gonna live an extraordinary life. And a long one. So, pick yourself up, and face the universe again. And know that I believe in you. You gave me a reason to fight for something better. I want to be that reason for you."

The picture shook, and Han looked up, a frown marring his face once more. He looked down, gave a brief nod, and then the picture cut out.

Leia took a deep breath.

Then another.

She looked around the Falcon, listening to the hum of its systems, breathing the recycled air.

Forget swimming, forget meetings, forget saving face.

From now on she was flying.


	5. Their Year

They finally talked about it one of the nights on Endor. That time would always be a blur of the most extreme of emotions - hope and terror, despair and elation, fear of death and joy of life. Their days were filled with a glut of information and a rush of people and plans. But, their nights were just the opposite, a quiet, darkened bubble of intimacy and whispered words.

"That message," Leia said, into his neck, as they both swam toward consciousness after another frenzied flurry of discarded clothes and sweat-slicked connection. Since the end of their awful separation, both had had a hard time keeping their hands off each other. Something about the purely physical connection of touch was undeniably necessary, like the need for water after a long desert wandering. Each time they came together again, even after the separation of mere hours, they would have to connect that way first, usually barely exchanging a few sentences before they lips and tongues and teeth took over.

Then, once that first, bright, blazing need for connection had been satiated, the real connecting would begin. Their conversations would roam from personal history to philosophical quandries, from the events of the day to the hopes for the future. It was different now then it had been on the borrowed time to Bespin. Now, they had a blank canvas. Now, they had infinite possibilities. There was no dark, looming separation to stay their tongues and tighten their hearts.

But with those possibilities came fear. Fear that the other shoe would drop, fear that they weren't compatible after all. Fear of that day when war would turn to peace and what if they were stupidly, utterly bored?

In those moments, Leia would turn to the past. She would reexamine all the moments that they had shared, searching for clues that would lead them to the present. What did you really mean then? What were you thinking when? When did you know that you loved me?

Han would humor her in these moments, giving her the detail and the authenticity that she craved, but she could tell he didn't need it the way she did. He wasn't afraid. Was he ever? He could look into the big, long future and trust that whatever came along, he, and they, would be enough.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, sending a sweet vibration through the delicate bone beneath her face.

"The one you recorded before you left…I mean, before you almost left. On Hoth."

He was silent for a moment, then drew in a thoughtful breath.

"You saw that?"

The surprise that stole through Leia lifted her onto her elbows, so she could look at his face. It was awash in the pale purple and dark blue of the starry night above them. He looked at her with an open, watchful expression. Lately, she had found that his face was much more relaxed around her. Dormant were the wry smirks and the dramatic grimaces. Instead, he watched her a waited.

"You didn't know that?"

And of course, there, a smirk. Just to prove her wrong.

"How would I know that?"

It hit her again, the bleak chasm of their seperation, the empty, empty, empty that was now filled, filled, filled. She shifted, so they fit together, even tighter, even closer.

"Right," she sighed, dropping a kiss on his canted mouth. She pulled back, then dropped another and another, a little longer and a little harder that time. "It's hard for me to remember that you wouldn't know. It's…been with me for so long."

He lifted a hand to the side of her face, tucking a fall of hair behind her ear. It immediately fell again, but instead of reaching for it, he dug his hand in and pulled her close. The kiss they shared was longer still, already starting to stoke the fire they'd only just quenched.

But, Leia pulled back, just enough to let the words continue to flow.

"I thought you were on the ship," she said, only the steady gaze of his eyes keeping the sting of tears at bay, "It was before I started looking with them, when I was still grounded. I would listen to the frequencies. Something about the Semudian Nebula spliced the signal…"

Han nodded knowingly, the veteran spacer coming to the fore. "Yeah, it's a great place to get lost in, but its hell on the communication systems. No wonder the comm has been glitchy."

Leia noticed his trick, the way he would deftly navigate them away from negative emotion into a safer place. But, she didn't let him this time, plunging forward into what it was she needed to say.

"When I got on board, I almost lost it," at Han's slight head shake, Leia surged forward, pressing a hand into his chest, "I did. I know I seem—"

"Invincible," he offered. "Strong," she allowed, "but even I have my limits," with a small smirk of her own Leia offered, "You really know how to drive a girl crazy, Solo."

She thought he would laugh at this, maybe throw some cocky response back her way, but he didn't look amused by this. He looked troubled, sincere, so different than the old Han she knew.

Well, not the one from that holo.

"Your words," she whispered, "They saved me. I'd never seen you be that honest. That open."

Han was watchful again, somehow drinking in her words. It was a heady thing to see in these pockets of nighttime close how much the mysanthropic, opportunistic spacer needed to be seen.

"What made you record it?"

A small frown graced his brow. He breathed again, hands gripping her hips, pressing her still closer. She felt him stir, and resisted the tidal pull at the joining of their bodies.

"What, Han?"

Another breath.

"I…," he seemed lost for words in a way he rarely did. "I didn't want to lose you again."

It was Leia's turn to frown.

"Again?"

Han sighed, and in a surge of motion, swung her over, so he was nestled between her thighs and propped above her on his own elbow. He leaned down and kissed her neck, hand drifting up to fondle a breast.

Just as she was about to insist on an explanation, he pulled back and smiled down at her.

"You like old stories," he said, "What about the first one?"

"The first…?"

"A smuggler and a Princess walk into a bar…"

Han remembered her with the clarity of holo. The figure draped in red, the cream of her skin, the darkness of her eyes. He wasn't a cheeseball and wasn't a romantic, but it was hard to deny the immediate connection he'd felt to that little woman. Love at first sight.

He could see the memory play out on Leia's face, the images seeming to dance across her expression, they way the flew through his mind. A saucy little smile broke out across her lips, and Han couldn't resist the urge to kiss it.

"So we're finally going to talk about that one, mm?" Leia said, with a teasing lilt against his mouth. He felt a hot thrill run through him as her playful side emerged. Han loved all sides of this woman - the logical, the pensive, the deeply sad - but this kittenish side never failed to undo him.

"Figure its about time," he said, leaning back up on his elbow, even as he pushed against her ever so slightly.

Leia took a breath, her pupils dilating in the moonlight, but she charged ahead as always.

"So, you knew it was me, huh?"

He chuckled at the absurdity.

"I knew," she quirked a brow at him, "Took me a year…and three months. But, I knew."

She shook her head, letting out something between a disbelieving laugh and a snort of frustration.

"What?" he said innocently, "How long did it take you?"

She leveled him with a look, delivering a hard squeeze to his rear.

"About a day."

Han paused at the implications of that. Nineteen year old Leia, hard as a diamond, brittle as a piece of blown glass, thinking about his lips resting on hers.

"And it took you three years to try to kiss me again?"

Now Leia delivered a hard tap to his glute. "I had a lot of other things on my mind. Besides, I don't remember you trying that hard."

Han shook his head, "Oh, I was trying, Princess. Trying to resist you."

Leia frowned, "Why?"

Han sighed at the look of childlike hurt that touched her face. He leaned down and kissed her temple.

"Cause you scared the shit out of me."

Leia pushed at his chest, catching his eyes, waiting for him to elaborate. He thought of resisting her, feeling the revival of both their desire in the slickness at her juncture and the hard heaviness between his thighs. He could distract her for a while, but he knew she wouldn't forget.

"Before you," he said, "before that night on Coruscant, I was pretty damn good at keeping my head in the sand. Didn't care about anything or anyone. Besides Chewie, I guess. But, after I met you, after I kissed you," he caught her eyes at this and traced the outline of that mask she'd worn so many years and lives ago, "I started to change. Part of me wanted it, but part of me…"

"…feared it?" Leia whispered, running her hand through his hair, sending a warm tingle down his back and into his heart.

"Yeah," he said simply. "It kinda hurts to care."

That was an understatement and they both knew it as they thought about the last few years.

"We haven't had a New Years kiss since," Leia said, this time being the one to guide them to lighter things.

Han's lips quirked. "No," he said. "Though we've both tried."

The blush that stained Leia's cheeks sent more hot trails down to his core. "What're you blushing for?"

She shook her head, squirming to look away. He slid a hand down and caught her attention the old fashioned way. Leia looked back at him in heady surprise as he stroked her center.

"I still can't believe I did that," she said breathlessly.

"Wasn't your fault," he said, moving against her gently with the rhythm of his hand.

"No, that was yours," she challenged.

"Yeah," he murmured, "shame on me for wanting you to live."

They were quiet for a moment, besides the strangled little moan that tumbled from Leia's lips as he opened her up with a couple slicked fingers.

"It's gonna be different this year," Han promised, allowing the adoration to pour upon her closed eyes. He still had a hard time believing she was choosing him. Still had a hard time giving over fully. But with every communion, with every whispered confession, it got a little easier.

"It better be," Leia breathed, still retaining an edge of teasing determination, "I don't think I can stand another disappointment."

Han wished for a moment that it was 9 months from now, that they'd made it through the chaos of the next stretch of time, and into some future full of peace. He'd never been one to imagine wanting to slow down, but with Leia, it was different. He felt an undeniable urge to savor her, to figure her out, to just have some time to breath the same damn air.

But, all he could do was make this moment count. He leaned down and waited for her to notice him. When she opened her eyes, he made his promise, clearly and straight from the heart.

"You'll never be disappointed on New Years again."

It was the closest either of them had come to saying forever. Han knew there'd be other ways, an engagement, a marriage, some children, but for now it was enough. They were enough.

"Kiss me, hotshot," Leia sighed.

And his lips met hers as she welcomed him inside.

* * *

Tarah Mavdee had always hated New Years at the bar. She'd gone to great lengths to hide this fact, partly because of her vocation as a spirit healer and partly for her own sanity. It wasn't only that the patrons at this particular upper level bar were of the most snobbish variety: demanding, arrogant and often outright rude. It wasn't just that her hours were extended on either side that night, and she'd leave feeling like she'd been stampeded by a herd of drunken banthas.

It also had something to do with that wispy fantasy that all girls have about what exactly New Years will mean.

She knew it was silly, especially given the state of war that the entire galaxy had been in during the last few years. It certainly wasn't a time for superstition or frivolity. It was a time when people had to hold onto their little place in the universe with all their might lest it be torn from their hands and dashed to pieces.

Strangely, it had been a good time for Tarah. The mental anguish and grief that had plagued so many sentients during the ramp up of the Rebellion and the fall of the Empire, had driven many people to her door. They needed solace and understanding in a time when their daily lives would give them none.

What had started as a nebulous calling that looked a lot like fortune telling had bloomed into a bonafide business centered on grief counseling and PTSD. Her latest, and proudest addition, had been a new branch that worked with past Imperial citizens to recognize and diminish the effects of speciesism.

So, tonight, for the first time she entered the bar as a patron. She had sworn she wouldn't do it, imagining about a million other ways to spend her evening. But when her old friends had begged her and her other plans had never coalesced (she may be a bit of a workaholic these days…), she made her old commute up a level and due East to the bar she'd in equal measures loved and despised.

It was different tonight. Just as raucous, just as fancy, but there was a new mix among the bourgeois elite. There were creatures of different skin textures and sizes, there were folks who were obvious visitors either in uniform or out of it, and the TV screens showed the same mix. It hadn't changed overnight, but slowly during the past 9 months, since the fall of the Empire, the old rules (or new rules?) had fallen away, and people had started to be people once again.

Tarah couldn't help the smile on her lips as she read the room, feeling the openness, the relief, the tentative new alliances. She waved at her friend Rikkard who stood behind the bar in what used to be her place, pouring a drink for a little woman in red. She made her way to the bar and slapped it playfully just as he replaced what looked to be a very expensive Corellian brew.

"Barkeep," Tarah drawled, "Give me your best…and your cheapest."

Rikkard smiled at her, shaking his shaggy black head, and reached for the same bottle he'd just replaced. He poured her a healthy amount then slid it over with a wink.

Tarah couldn't help the little blush that crept up her neck. There might have been another reason for her visit here tonight. Perhaps.

"He must like you," said the crimson-clad woman to her left. She had a lovely speaking voice, deep and rich and, Tarah saw, a beautiful aura, brilliant with generosity, self-sacrifice, and goodness.

"Ahh," Tarah waved a hand dismissively, "We were just in the trenches together for too long. I used to work here."

The woman's mouth quirked a bit as she swirled the whiskey in her glass, "Oh, those trenches."

Tarah saw a little web of dark blue appear like lace across the woman's aura.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, sliding into the seat next to her, "that was thoughtless of me."

The woman glanced at her, surprised.

"You fought?" Tarah said, sipping her drink. Damn, this was good stuff, also disgustingly expensive. She only remembered one customer ordering it in her entire time behind the bar…

"Yes," the brunette said simply, "that's pretty much all I've been doing for a long, long time."

Tarah nodded. She could see the tell-tale signs now, the weariness around the woman's eyes, the flickers of violet that showed up around her as her gaze went far away.

Tarah wondered what had brought her here tonight. Perhaps she was a visiting official. She didn't seem to have the air of a soldier about her, her manners too smooth and her voice too commanding. As Tarah looked at her, she felt a name niggling at her subconscious, suddenly sure she'd seen her before…

"Leia," the woman said, extending a hand to Tarah and giving her a patient smile.

 _Princess Leia._ The name hit Tarah like a sudden meteor shower, and she scrambled to arrange her face into something more benign and less amazed.

"Tarah," she said quickly, taking the proffered hand and then reaching for her whiskey once more.

Now she really wondered what she was doing here.

The news bulletins a few years ago had been plastered with her face. She'd been a wanted criminal, a traitor, and the reward for her capture had been substantial. Of course, Tarah, along with most of the other sentients in her circle, had known what that meant. She was one of the good ones, part of the resistance that just might bring peace and freedom and justice back to this troubled Galaxy.

"Thank you," Tarah found herself saying, "Thank you for your service."

Leia blushed a little now, shaking her head and looking back down at her drink. She seemed to be considering a sip, but then looked decisively back up the half-Mirialanian.

"You're welcome," she said.

Tarah smiled, feeling both a little starstruck and very of the vibrancy of the being in front of her. So many creatures who had seen what this woman must have seen had been darkened by it, twisted and hidden from their own light by the blackness that they'd seen. But, this woman's light shown through, not devoid of the complex kaleidoscope of emotions and experience she carried with her, but not consumed by it either.

"Not that I'm not happy to be sharing a drink with you this New Years, but what are you doing here?"

Tarah figured Princesses and War Heroes would have better invitations on the first free New Years the Galaxy had seen in a quarter of a century.

Leia got another faraway look in her eyes, and Tarah didn't need to read anything to know she was lost in a memory.

As if in answer to her question, a man's distinct baritone cut through the crowd, "Sorry I'm late,"

A hand gripped Leia's shoulder, followed by an arm, a shoulder and a person. Not just any person, but a tall, imposing man who had the look holo star but the air of an old friend. Tarah watched as they turned to each other and embraced, a bright healthy green zipping through both their auras as they did so.

 _Ah, that makes sense,_ she thought. Her clients who had strong partnerships often had a reason to fight, through their demons and their challenges, back to the arms of the one they loved.

The couple murmured to each other and the man's eyes lit up as his partner - _oh, his wife_ , she thought as a simple gold ring caught the light - handed him the untouched tumbler of whiskey.

It hit her then, as she took in the Corellian holding the glass, his own light dancing around him.

"So you found her!" she burst out, only afterwards thinking maybe she should have been more subtle.

The man glanced at her, a frown of confusion marring his brow. It immediately dispersed as he took her in. Tarah expected a hint of derision, but the smile that broke out across his face was genuine.

"Well, lookee here," he said, leaning closer to his wife so he could share the smile with her. "We're getting the full experience."

Tarah laughed, knowing her own aura would show the gold of bright joy to anyone who could see.

"Tarah, was it?"

She nodded as Leia took her in with new interest, but Tarah noticed, no jealousy or suspicion.

"I never got your name," Tarah said, reaching out to clink his glass, "You weren't feeling very friendly."

"Nah," the man said good-naturedly, "not for the first thirty years of my life."

"Only that long?" the brunette put in.

They all laughed at this, and then the man turned back to her. "Han Solo, at your service."

The name sounded a little familiar too, but Tarah decided not to go down that rabbit hole. All she could focus on at the moment was the fact that that unfinished story from over five years ago had come to completion before her very eyes.

Han turned toward Leia and started explaining how they knew each other. Leia smiled at first, at the precociousness of the young server and the suspicion of the befuddled smuggler. But when he mentioned her observations after Leia had left, the woman's face grew more serious.

"So, what happened?" she asked, "Did you track her down?"

The two kept their eyes locked, both looking a little sad and so deeply in love.

"In a way," he finally said. "But, it wasn't that simple."

Tarah sighed, taking another sip of her drink.

"No," she said glancing at Rikkard, who's tan skin and kind smile had captivated her for over two years now, "It never is."

As if hearing his name in her thoughts (he didn't have the sight, though, she'd tested it), he made his way over to their group and turned toward the new arrival.

"Another drink for the lady?"

Both of them shook their head, but Han reached an arm around her and put one hand on her belly.

"You want something bubbly?" he said.

Leia leaned into him and nodded, a besotted smile back on her face.

"Can we get a ginger fizz?" he asked, thumb stroking across what Tarah now saw was a slight bump under the Leia's flowing red dress.

Rikkard nodded and shot Tarah another smile. She blushed yet again, and when she turned back to the pregnant couple, she was gifted with matching looks of amusement.

"Looks like the tables have turned," Han said, a little too gleefully.

Tarah shook her head, laughing a little nervously.

"We're just friends," she said.

"Right," Leia purred. "And I'm just feeling a little under the weather."

Tarah laughed, "Congratulations."

"Uh, uh, uh," Han said, giving his wife a little shoulder massage. "No changing the subject. Did someone once tell me to just let go?"

Tarah shook her head in wonder. "You remember that?"

Han smiled jovially, "Turns out you were pretty good at your job."

"What have you got to lose?" Leia asked sincerely.

And Tarah took them in. They both smiled from their souls, not just a stretch of the mouth but a warmth emanating from their eyes. Their auras were clean and bright, dancing with hope and possibility and subtly weaving together through fusions of affection, understanding, and desire. Leia's hand reached up and held her husband's and his other slipped down to her belly again. Tarah knew that no matter what came their way in the coming decades, they had enough love to make it through.

"Everything," Tarah murmured, "Excuse me."

Han and Leia watched as the little half-Mirialanian slipped off the stool and back behind the bar. Bright pink stained her cheeks as she spoke with her tall dark friend, but when he swept her up into his arms and planted a decisive kiss on her lips neither was surprised.

"Why is everyone so much smarter than us?" Han muttered, in mock annoyance.

"I don't know, flyboy, I'm pretty smart," Leia quipped back.

"Yeah," Han agreed, nuzzling her ear, "It was probably me."

Leia chuckled, "If I knew this was the way to dismantle that ego, I'd have done it a long time ago."

"Would you have?" Han wondered aloud. "If I'd stopped you that night, and asked for your name, asked you to stay a little bit longer?"

Leia was silent for a moment, watching the new lovers chatter at each other then break apart as what looked to be a manager gave them a few brisk words.

"Probably not," Leia sighed. "Alright, I was stupid too."

"Nah," Han sighed, "It happened how it was supposed to happen. We're both too damn stubborn for things to be simple."

Leia nodded and yawned crackingly, looking in equal measure like a lioness and a kitten.

Han glanced at the clock. 9:59.

"Hey, you wanna celebrate at Crystal City time?"

Leia chuckled, "I'm pathetic."

"You're perfect," Han murmured, guiding her out of her chair.

The rest of the bar continued its celebratory ruckus while the two of them looked at each other. They might as well have been alone, in a galaxy far, far away, as they thought of what had been, what was, and what might just be.

"Any wishes you want to make?" Han asked.

Leia looked a little surprised, then thoughtful as she took in his face.

"No," she said simply. "Did you want any more of your whiskey?"

Han glanced at his barely touched beverage, and gave a wry chuckle.

"Nah," he said. "That tradition's a little tired."

With a little laugh, they leaned closer, making their own moment, without the chrono, or the cheering, or the firework display.

Han rested his forehead his forehead against Leia's and whispered the words across her lips.

"Ten, Nine,"

"Eight, Seven," she joined in.

"Six, Five, Four,"

"I love you," he murmured.

"I know," she said, their new favorite way to sign off.

"One."


End file.
